


Don’t Get Me Wrong

by kingsofeverything



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 5 Times, Art Teacher Louis Tomlinson, Artist Louis Tomlinson, Flashbacks, M/M, School Reunion, Teacher Harry Styles, only not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsofeverything/pseuds/kingsofeverything
Summary: Four times Louis’ art hurts Harry’s feelings, and one time it doesn’t.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 55
Kudos: 155
Collections: 5 Times 1D Fic Fest





	Don’t Get Me Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to check out all the other 5x fics in this fest!
> 
> Title comes from the song of the same name by The Pretenders
> 
> Tumblr post is [here](https://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/643114161479532545/by-kingsofeverything-for-the-1d5xfest-four-times), if you'd like to reblog :D

﴾﴿

Harry managed to miss his five year high school reunion because he was in the middle of graduate school, too busy with classes and work to make it. At least that’s the excuse he gave his mom when she showed him the paper invitation that was delivered to her house that September. Five years isn't enough time to get nostalgic about high school anyway. 

For his ten year reunion, Facebook had come into existence, but he still skipped. At that time, Facebook groups weren’t a thing, and due to his job as a teacher, Harry kept his page private, and simply didn’t accept the friend requests of certain people from his graduating class. He just wasn’t interested in attending. 

When Stacey Wilson, former President of the Student Council, invited Harry to join the Facebook group for their fifteenth high school reunion, he ignored the invitation and went on with his life. After all, he never really used Facebook, and a fifteen year reunion shouldn’t actually be a thing. It sounds almost as ridiculous as a five year reunion. What these people could possibly have to say to each other every five years, Harry doesn’t know. 

Now, twenty years post graduation, Harry still avoids Facebook, preferring Instagram and his secret Twitter account. While he knew Instagram was owned by Facebook, it’s never been an issue. His account consists almost exclusively of black and white photos of his cats, snapshots of his friends and family, and the occasional selfie. Absolutely nothing untoward is on there. He ’grams like his grandma follows him, because she does. 

It’s a surprise when he opens Niall’s story one afternoon in August and finds that he’s shared what appears to be an announcement for the twentieth high school reunion for Harry’s graduating class.

Harry walks right past his own apartment, up the stairs to Niall’s place, and bangs on the door. 

“Well, hello there, Harold,” Niall says, stepping back out of Harry’s way. “Beer? Wine? I’m cooking chicken.”

When Harry grimaces, he makes sure to do so where Niall can’t see. “Can’t stay for dinner. Just wanted to ask you whose twentieth reunion thing was that you shared on your story earlier?”

“Oh! Did that ’cause I thought you’d see it. New guy at work went to school with you. Just moved back from Austin, Texas. Liam Payne?”

Harry clasps his hands in front of his chest. “Liam was like, my only friend in high school. He moved to Texas? I thought he was in Oregon.”

“Moved around a lot, apparently,” Niall says, opening the fridge. “Beer?”

“No, I’m good,” Harry says. “So, Liam’s back. That’s great. We lost touch years ago, but I always meant to look him up. And he’s working with you?”

“Yep. Just moved. Started this week,” Niall says, grabbing a beer for himself. He winks. “I’m his boss.”

Harry closes his eyes. Niall has a way of saying things that’s honestly a little bit scary. “And the first thing he did was find out about the reunion?”

“He said he was excited. That he hasn’t been able to make one since he’s been so far away, but he keeps up with everyone through the Facebook group,” Niall says, and Harry sighs. 

“Well, hopefully he’ll have a fun time,” Harry says, backing towards the door. He doesn’t want to wind up eating Niall’s unseasoned chicken when he has leftover eggplant parmesan at home. 

“Aren’t you going?” Niall asks, cracking open the oven door. From where Harry’s standing, he can see the bland chicken baking. 

“Niall, I hated high school. Remember me telling you how I was insecure?” Harry asks, waiting for Niall’s nod. 

“Don’t know what for,” Niall says, “but go on.” 

“Well, like I said, Liam was my only friend. And I had a… I guess he was a bully. That’s what I’d call it now, anyway. Like, if one of my students was in a similar situation, I’d definitely consider it bullying.”

“Wow… Really?” Niall dumps a can of unsalted green beans into a bowl and pops it in the microwave. Harry’s eggplant parmesan calls to him through the ceiling of his apartment, and he looks down at Niall’s floor, wishing they were in his kitchen instead. “I mean, I do remember you being shy when we first met, and I sort of maybe recall you telling me you were insecure? But I also kind of thought you were just one of those people. You know, the type who say they were awkward and ugly as teenagers but they were really just tall.” 

“Thanks.”

“I mean, you’re super hot now, man. I don’t know,” Niall says, shaking his head. 

“Thanks, Ni,” Harry says with a wink, which Niall ignores. 

“So you had a bully? That’s pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah…” 

“He live around here? How about you drive me over to his house, I’ll push him around a little.”

“No, Niall.”

“Well, if he doesn’t live here, then what’s the big deal? You can go to the reunion and—”

“Niall!” Raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes, Harry says, “As far as I know, Louis does live near here, but—” Harry holds a finger up to silence Niall when he opens his mouth to speak. “I meant you can’t go and bully my old high school bully.”

“Oh.” Niall frowns. 

“Besides, you don’t need to beat people up for me,” Harry says with a sigh. “I can fight my own battles.”

“By staying home and avoiding bumping into this guy?”

“I already told you, I don’t want to go anyway.”

“But what about Liam? What if Liam doesn’t want to go alone?” Niall asks, and Harry narrows his eyes. 

“What did you tell Liam?”

Taking a step backwards so he’s out of Harry’s reach, Niall says, “That we’d both go. Said I’d be his date, but maybe I’ll be your date instead.”

Harry stops, blinking slowly. “You want to be Liam’s date? Like a real date?”

“No, no. Just like a plus-one. But I can pretend to be your real date, and kick this bully’s ass across the gym.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Harry says. “And it’s not… It’s not like Louis beat me up. Never even touched me. He was just… mean.”

“What’d he do?” Niall asks, opening the fridge again and pulling out a bottle of white wine. Without asking, he pours some into a water glass, pushes it into Harry’s hand, and nods towards his living room. 

“How long does your chicken have?” Harry asks, looking warily at the stove. 

“Forty-five minutes or so,” Niall says. “Sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

“No, I’ve got some papers to grade, and eggplant waiting for me, but it won’t take that long to tell you about Louis.”

“Okay,” Niall says, sitting on the sofa. “Spill.”

﴾﴿

It was Harry’s freshman year of high school in a new school district where he didn’t know anyone, and he was more than ready for it. Over the summer, he’d shot up a few inches, his voice had dropped, and he felt like he wasn’t a little boy any longer. On the first day of school, Harry’d met Liam Payne, who quickly became his best friend. He thought things were going well, until he walked down to meet Liam outside the woodshop classroom before lunch one day, and came face to face with his own face.

He was still standing there when Liam got out of class.

“Harry, what…” Liam stopped, staring up at the art teacher’s display cabinet. He lowered his voice and asked, “Is that supposed to be you?”

“Of course it’s me!” Harry pointed at the bright pink paper and the block mounted beside it, which was clearly used to print the picture. 

Harry glanced around, but no one seemed to be watching them. He self-consciously patted his curls, which he’d thought he was getting better at controlling, but not according to that linocut of him. It drew attention to all of the things he hated about himself: his too big teeth were even bigger in the cartoon style of the print, his curls sat on top of his head like a bad wig, his long arms were held out to the sides and wavy lines emitted from his armpits, as if he wasn’t already worried about his body odor. 

“Do I stink?” Harry asked in a whisper, lifting his arm and sniffing his pit. 

Liam stepped closer, peering through the glass of the cabinet. “Louis T.” 

“Who?” Harry sniffed his other armpit.

“That’s the name on it,” Liam said, frowning at Harry. “He’s in my math class. If you want, I can ask him to—”

“No!” Harry shook his head violently. “Can’t let him know it bothered me. That’s how bullies win, right?”

“I… I guess?” Liam shrugged, but he didn’t look too sure.

“I’ll just pretend I’m fine with it,” Harry said, pressing his lips together and nodding once. “If I don’t let it get to me, he’ll leave me alone.”

“Okay, man,” Liam said, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. “Lunch?”

﴾﴿

“What’s a linocut?” Niall asks.

“It’s like a carving in linoleum,” Harry explains, thinking back to that print. “So it’s like… backwards? Whatever you want the picture to look like is backwards and then, um… you ink it or paint it and press it onto paper. Or fabric, I guess. Like an old fashioned printing press.”

“Must’ve taken him forever,” Niall says, leaning back on the couch and sipping his beer. 

“Yeah, and he, like, highlighted all of my flaws.” Harry takes a gulp of wine, and continues, “And it was on pink paper.”

“You love pink.”

“Yeah, but back then I was a closeted fourteen-year-old kid!” Harry closes his eyes, embarrassed at the memory. “I think he was calling me gay or girly.”

“Ahhh… Harold.” Niall reaches over and pats Harry’s knee. 

_ “And _ that was only the first time.”

﴾﴿

Fall of his sophomore year, Harry joined the cross-country team. It gave him an outlet, and introduced him to people, and he finally found a sport he wasn’t awful at. In the spring, he joined the track team, running the 1600 meter and 3200 meter, and once the 800 meter when one of his teammates was sick. Plus, Louis had left him alone all year. It was pretty great. 

The T in Louis T. stood for Tomlinson, and Louis Tomlinson was everything Harry wished he could be: confident, smart, popular, and gorgeous. He was kind to everyone, except Harry. Harry, he ignored. Which was probably better than paying attention to him, because whenever he did deign to look Harry’s way, he’d make some ridiculous face at him, eyes crossed and tongue stuck out, like an actual child. 

What was worse, was that Louis was on the soccer team. A team which happened to practice on the football field at the same time that the track team practiced, and the track was a quarter mile paved oval around the perimeter of the football field. So five days a week, Harry had to run while studiously not looking at Louis Tomlinson. 

The absolute worst part though, was Louis’ bum in his soccer shorts. If Harry hadn't already realized he was gay, Louis’ bum would’ve done it. And Harry had to spend those afternoons counting his steps, singing ABBA quietly to himself to keep his breathing even, and staring hard at the paved track so as not to accidentally look at Louis’ bum and trip over his own feet.

At a track meet one afternoon in April, Harry was coming around the curve before the last stretch of his 3200 meter race, and he kicked it into gear, sprinting towards the finish line. He looked up, and his stupid eyes caught on stupid Louis Tomlinson standing by the stupid fence, shouting, “Come on, Curly!”

Harry’s left foot came down on the inside edge of the paved track, sliding off into the dirt, and sending him sprawling, skidding on the asphalt. Blood pumping, he didn’t feel any pain, so he pushed himself to his feet and ran on, crossing the finish line and stumbling off onto the grass. He laid down on his back, and the team trainer knelt over him, checking that nothing was broken. Harry’s teammates surrounded him, all of them looking down at him while the trainer cleaned and bandaged his scrapes. Both elbows, his right forearm, and both knees were bloody and bruised, but there would be no lasting damage. 

After Harry was checked over, his coach sent him home to get some rest. So before the meet ended, he walked to his car alone—the beat up, old Nissan sedan that his parents gave him for his sixteenth birthday—and he stopped, staring at the bumper. 

There, on the only part of the metal bumper that wasn’t dented, was a bumper sticker. And not just any bumper sticker, but a hand drawn picture of Harry decked out in his track uniform, scrawny legs mid-stride, curls standing out from the headband he always wore to keep his hair off his face. He reached up and snatched the headband out of his hair, and squinted at the bumper sticker. Coming out of his cartoon, too big mouth, was a speech bubble, and inside the speech bubble were music notes and the words “Gimme, gimme, gimme!” from the ABBA song he swore he sang quietly enough at track practice that no one would overhear him. 

He cried the whole way home. 

﴾﴿

“He stuck it to your car?” Niall huffs, emptying his beer and swallowing. “What a jerk.”

“Yeah, but nature saved my ass,” Harry says, remembering the thunderstorm that came that night. “The bumper sticker wasn’t waterproof, and the marker or paint or whatever Louis used to draw it blurred and ran and washed away. When I drove to school the next morning, it was just a wet, sticky rectangle.”

“Still. That kid sounds like a real piece of work,” Niall says. 

“He was,” Harry agrees, thinking back to that next day. “He came up to me in the parking lot and had the nerve to ask if I saw the sticker before the rain got to it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” Harry says with a smug grin. “I acted like I didn’t even know it was there until that second.”

“Nice one,” Niall says, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “I’m going to grab a beer. You okay on the wine?”

“I’m fine,” Harry says, taking another sip. Niall may not be able to cook, but at least he can buy a decent Sauvignon Blanc. 

From the kitchen, Niall calls out, “Was that it? Did he leave you alone after that?”

“He looked so disappointed about the bumper sticker. I really thought he would,” Harry says, turning to watch Niall poke at his unseasoned chicken. “But no. It was like he had to do something to pick on me every year, and every year it got worse. And it was always just when I thought he’d forgotten, too.”

﴾﴿

Harry’s junior year of high school was the most fun he’d had in school so far. He and Liam both got jobs the previous summer at the local bakery, and they both worked weekends through the school year. The spending money was great, and along with the cupcakes, Harry got to learn how to bake. Liam wasn’t as interested in that part of it, and generally preferred the customer service side, which worked out well for them both. In Harry’s free time, between cross-country, track, working at the bakery, and keeping up with his school work, he baked at home. And whenever it was one of his teammates’ birthdays, he’d bake cupcakes and bring them to practice after school. 

He loved sharing his talent and making people happy with food. In fact, for a while there, Harry thought he might go to culinary school, become a pastry chef or something, but it didn’t pan out. 

Towards the end of the school year, Harry brought cupcakes for one of his teammates on the track team, and he’d overdone it, made far too many, and before he could stop them, his teammates were calling over the soccer team and sharing what was left with them. Luckily, Harry got out of there before Louis could make fun of him. Or so he thought. 

Later that week, Harry was sitting in math class when someone called out from the hallway, “Look! It’s Bakery Boy! Here to save the day!” It was odd, but Harry didn’t really think much of it until he was at lunch and Liam sat down beside him with the school newspaper. 

“So… The art classes drew comics for the paper,” Liam said, sliding the paper in front of Harry. “Thought I’d show you before someone else did.”

Harry choked on his cupcake. Evidently,  _ Bakery Boy _ was the name of the comic that Louis Tomlinson drew for the school paper. And it was very obviously a cartoon version of Harry, with inhumanly long arms and legs, a massive mop of curls, saucer like eyes, two gigantic front teeth, deep dimples, and pouty lips. It was more of a caricature than a cartoon, and  _ Bakery Boy _ swooped in to save the day of the starving basketball team with his cupcakes. Harry wasn’t on the basketball team. He didn’t even know anyone on the basketball team. And basketball season had ended months before. Louis couldn’t even get that right. 

It was humiliating, but Harry wouldn’t let it show. He finished his lunch, and on the way out of the cafeteria, made sure to pass by the table where Louis was sitting with his best friend Zayn. When Harry cleared his throat, Louis looked up and met his eyes, but before Louis could make one of his stupid faces, Harry walked over to the trash can and tossed his copy of the school newspaper in. 

﴾﴿

“Good one, Harold!” Niall laughs, clinking his beer bottle against Harry’s water glass of wine. “You know, I really think you ought to go to the reunion. Show this Louis that he didn’t get to you.”

“Yeah?” Harry twists his lips, thinking it over. “I don’t know.”

“I mean… Did you ever confront him?” Niall asks, but Harry shakes his head. “You should.”

“Maybe.” Harry blows a raspberry, leaning his head back and looking up at the ceiling. “People called me Bakery Boy until I graduated. Even though I quit working there. And I never brought cupcakes to school again.”

“That’s fucked up, man. I don’t like this Louis dude. You could've been a baker!”

“Nah… I like being a teacher,” Harry says, nudging Niall’s shoulder. “And I still bake. Just not professionally.”

“Yeah, you do,” Niall says. “I want a chocolate and Guinness cake for my birthday.”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry says. “We’ve got a couple of weeks.”

“Thanks,” Niall says, setting his beer bottle down on the coffee table and turning to face Harry. “So, was that it? Did he bother you again?”

“Yeah, he did. Once more. Right before graduation,” Harry says.

﴾﴿

Senior year had been pretty awesome. Harry went to prom with his friend Heather, passed all of his AP exams, medalled at the regional track meet, and got accepted to his first choice college. It wouldn’t be easy saying goodbye to Liam when he left for Oregon, but they’d keep in touch. Only a few more weeks were left until graduation, and even Louis had left him alone all year. He’d stopped making faces at Harry every time they happened to make eye contact, and had moved onto completely ignoring Harry instead. 

During the last month of school, the drama club had put on a musical, which Louis unsurprisingly starred in, and Harry unsurprisingly did not attend. All of the clubs were doing what they could to raise money, sort of a last ditch effort towards a senior class trip. And if they didn’t raise enough money, whatever they did raise would be spent on a post-graduation celebration that would take place in the gym. That option seemed much more likely. 

One afternoon, on his way out to his car, Harry got caught up in a crowd of people standing by the cafeteria doors. It looked like there was a bake sale going on, and he was hungry, so he joined the line and waited until he could see past the kids in front of him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a bake sale. 

Behind the table sat Louis, Zayn, and a couple of other of the kids Harry knew were in their art class. On the table was a variety of cups, vases, bowls, and other objects made out of clay and painted or glazed, fired in the art department’s kiln. All of the pottery was for sale to raise money for the senior trip. And behind it all, right in front of Louis, was a statue of Harry, made out of clay. 

“Curly!” Louis shouted before Harry could duck out of there. “Hey, look! It’s a teapot!”

The crowd parted for Louis. He stood up, holding the cartoonish, foot tall, clay teapot, and with one hand, Louis removed the head. 

﴾﴿

“A removable head?” The oven beeps, and Niall stands up. “What is he, a serial killer?” 

“It was so ugly, Niall,” Harry says, watching as Niall forgets to put on oven mitts and then remembers, sliding the bland chicken out of the oven. “I was literally a little teapot, one of my arms was the handle, one was the spout. My hair was like… like Medusa. Like little brown snakes coiling out of my head. And my eyes were huge. Like, relative to the size of my head, they were like tennis balls. And he tried to give it to me! As if I’d want it.”

“I really, really, really think you should go to the reunion. Me and you and Liam. We’ll get dressed up, go to your old high school, confront this asshole, and leave. Peace! And then we’ll go somewhere else.”

“You think? It won’t be weird?” Harry asks, unsure if he ever wants to see Louis Tomlinson again.

“No,” Niall says, poking his chicken with a meat thermometer. “And even if it is, we won’t be there long enough for it to matter.”

“Okay, yeah. Let’s do it.”

﴾﴿

Before the reunion, Harry and Liam get together for lunch, and it’s just like old times. They catch up, and make plans, and Harry actually starts to look forward to confronting his old bully. He practices in the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out exactly what to say when they meet again.

The reunion is being held in the gym at their old school, and Harry cannot wait. He dresses carefully, wanting to look good, but not too good. Sexy, but not over-the-top. Basically, he wants to give Louis Tomlinson a piece of his mind, and give everyone else something pretty to look at while he’s doing it. 

He finally decides on a rose pink satin shirt, unbuttoned to show some skin, and a pair of flared plaid trousers. Niall says they aren’t sexy at all, but they hug Harry’s bum and thighs, both of which he’s worked hard for and wants to show off. 

“Hey, guys,” Liam says, pulling Harry into a hug as soon as he’s close enough. 

“Don’t you look handsome,” Harry says, stepping back and motioning for Liam to twirl. “Very nice. You can be my date.”

“I thought I was your date?” Niall pouts, and Harry shakes his head. 

“You’re wearing cargo shorts, Niall.”

Niall huffs, but doesn’t argue, and all three of them make their way towards the school’s entrance. In the twenty years since graduating, Harry hasn’t even driven by. He really did want to forget, and he did a good job. But memories come flooding back as he gets closer, and not all of them are bad. It makes him wonder what else he’s forgotten, and if the shadow cast by Louis Tomlinson blotted out the brightness of everything else. 

Just inside the entrance to the high school is a table where they pick up stick-on ‘Hello! My Name Is’ labels, and Niall sneakily asks if Louis Tomlinson has already picked up his nametag. He has, so Liam leads them through the hallways towards the gym. Outside the double doors to the gym are large display cases, that Harry remembers holding trophies, but tonight contain old yearbooks, pictures, awards, and artwork. 

Harry stops, grabbing Niall’s arm. “Look!”

“What— Oh. Holy shit,” Niall says, staring up at the large charcoal drawing of Harry’s teenage face.

“He drew my pimples!” Harry stomps his foot, and takes off into the gym, eyes peeled for Louis Tomlinson so Harry can give him a piece of his mind. And there he is. Just as handsome, if not more so, especially now that he has a full beard, and greying hair. For fuck’s sake. He can’t even age properly and instead has morphed into a silver fox. It’s completely unfair.

Harry stalks up to him, not stopping until he’s mere inches away. He pokes Louis hard in the chest, and says, “You! 

“Harry Styles?” Louis asks, meeting Harry’s eyes, then looking down at Harry’s finger where it’s poking him in the sternum.

“Yes, Harry Styles. I came here tonight to… to confront you,” Harry says, straightening his spine and lifting his chin. “You… You’re a horrible person! You’re a bully and you—” 

“What?” Louis looks to his left, and Harry notices the man beside him. Zayn Malik. 

“And you!” Harry turns to Zayn, and tries to poke him in the chest, but Zayn steps away before Harry can make contact. “You’re not much better. You let him bully me all through high school.”

“I did not,” Zayn says dismissively. 

“Harry, what—” Louis clears his throat, eyes darting over to look past Harry. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s talking about how you picked on him all through school,” Liam says from Harry’s right.

“Yeah, and not even in a normal way,” Niall says from Harry’s left. “You couldn’t just beat up the gay kid, you had to make weird art about him for the whole school to see? Freak.”

Zayn giggles, holding a hand to his mouth, and Liam says, “It’s not funny. And I… I work out. I’ll… I’ll punch you. If I have to.”

“Don’t,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Please don’t punch anyone. I… I think I can explain.”

“Oh, great. Just what I want to hear,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you have a totally innocent reason for picking on me all through high school.”

“Well,” Louis says, holding a hand up when Niall starts to speak. “First of all, I was never trying to pick on you or bully you. I was— I mean, now that I think back, I can see how it might’ve looked that way, but I was a stupid kid with a crush, so I—”

“What?” Harry’s voice comes out squeaky, and he looks to Liam and then Niall to confirm that they heard what he heard. 

“Oh…” Liam says.

“A crush?” Niall throws his hands in the air. “That explains it.”

“That does not explain anything,” Harry says, propping his hands on his hips. “There is a drawing out there in the hallway of me that includes my pimples.”

Louis shrugs. “It was a life drawing. And I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I didn’t actually mean for you to see that one, but Ms. Hall wanted to put up some art from our year, and I didn’t have much, so… Plus, I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Well, I am,” Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I can, um… I can take the drawing down, if you’d like,” Louis offers politely. 

“I would like that.” Harry nods, and because he can be polite, too, adds, “Please.”

As they walk back towards the gym entrance, Harry hears Niall introducing himself to Zayn, and he figures he and Liam will be alright without him for a little while. 

It’s quieter in the hallway, and Harry watches as Louis pulls a keyring from his pocket, and unlocks the display case.

“You have a key?” Harry asks.

“I work here now,” Louis says, reaching up to carefully take the drawing down. He rolls it up and hands it to Harry. “I’m the art teacher.”

“Oh,” Harry says, unsure what to do with the drawing now that he has it. “You, um… I didn’t know. I’m a teacher, too. History. Not here, obviously.”

“Yeah… So, I’m really sorry. I can’t believe you thought…” Louis takes his bottom lip between his teeth, shaking his head. 

“The bumper sticker was, um… Well, I fell at the track meet when I saw you and then got back to my car—”

“You fell because of me?” Louis asks, holding his hand to his heart. 

“Sort of? You were always… Well, I  _ thought  _ you were always making fun of my hair, yelling ‘Curly!’, but I guess you weren’t?”

“I was never making fun of you, Harry,” Louis says. “I was fascinated by your curls. Wanted to touch them.”

“Oh, um… And  _ Bakery Boy?”  _ Harry asks. 

“You were so sweet, bringing cupcakes for your friends,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Then I got to eat one at soccer practice that day, and I was so impressed! I was hungry and you, um, saved the day. My day, at least.”

“You really had a crush on me?” Harry asks, thinking back, and trying to remember if there was ever anything Louis did that might’ve been considered flirting. 

“From the first time I saw you,” Louis says, locking the cabinet and sliding his hands into his pockets. “For what it’s worth, I’m not nearly as awkward at flirting now. Though I suppose it’s too late, what with your boyfriend? Boyfriends?”

“Oh! No, no, no,” Harry says, violently shaking his head. “Niall and Liam are my friends. No, um… I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Neither do I, in case you were wondering,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows. “Would you, um… Would you want to maybe get coffee one day?”

“Depends,” Harry says, scrunching his nose and trying not to smile. “Does the coffee pot have a removable head?”

Groaning miserably, Louis says, “I’m so sorry. You must’ve thought I was—”

“A serial killer? Yeah,” Harry says, nodding towards the gym. “You want to go back in?”

“Kind of have to,” Louis says. “Since I work here, I volunteered to sort of chaperone and help clean up after.”

“Hey, um…” Harry unrolls the drawing, holding it up and really looking at it. “Will you hang this back up?”

“You sure?” Louis asks, and when Harry nods, Louis unlocks the cabinet. It takes a moment to get the drawing back in place, and once it’s hanging properly, Louis locks the cabinet and takes a step back. 

“Are there other drawings of me that I haven’t seen?” Harry asks. The charcoal picture is truly well done. Beautiful, really. Louis is quite talented. 

“There were, but I threw them out,” Louis says with a shrug. “Felt kind of stalkerish to keep them. I’d forgotten about this one.”

“It’s lovely,” Harry says. “And I’m not just saying that because it’s me. I mean, pimples and all, it’s… Now that I know there was no malice behind it, it’s easy to see how talented you are. I love it.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, cheeks turning pink. He scratches his beard, and tips his head towards the gym door. “Would you be my date for the rest of the evening?”

Harry huffs a laugh. “You know, if you’d been that straightforward twenty-some years ago, things might’ve been very different.”

“Might’ve been,” Louis agrees, resting a hand on Harry’s lower back and walking beside him, back into the gym. 

﴾﴿


End file.
